by Eliza Grace
Bigfoot Isn’t Friendly
“Barry,” I say again. Somehow this is the most unbelievable part of this whole freaking unbelievable thing. The lights flicker above and our eyes dart upwards. Seconds later, we’re plunged into dimness.
“Jen,” A groggy voice calls from the shadows and we all start, turning fast and facing whatever is haunting us from the now-dark corner of the holding room. “Jen, you’re okay?” We would have noticed something there when we entered. Wouldn’t we have?
“Archie?” Jen breathes out, moving quickly from around the wheelchair.
“Jen, wait!” Jon yells, trying to grab for her as she rushes past him. “Jen, it could be a mimic!”
Bigfoot in his cage roars and beats at the bars. I feel he’s trying to warn us, the same way Jon is. I look at the giant creature as he grips the bars and grunts as he pulls. He’s bending them. He’s bending the bars. He keeps pulling and growling until he’s created a gap wide enough to squeeze through. If I could have stumbled backwards, I would have. All I could do was grab the wheel handles and push them as hard as I can to roll away. Hoyt does help now, yanking me back from danger.
Jon goes to the light switches and tries to flood the darkness. Nothing happens. With lightning-speed, he races forward into the darkness. My heart freezes when I hear Jen’s strangled scream. Hoyt pushes past me, also going towards whatever Jon is now fighting. I can see movement, blurs in my vision like I’ve looked too long at the sun and then tried to re-focus on the world around me. I don’t want to be alone here, in my own darkened corner of the room next to the useless light switches and the exit I so desperately want to use right now.
I hear a screeching sound, so inhuman and spine-scratching. Jon comes into view, dragging what appears to be Officer Wheaton at first glance. But as Jon pulls the… the creature… I can see the skin rippling and changing, trying to hold the chosen form. It opens its mouth, impossibly wide, to screech again. The hair begins to fall out, creating bald patches along the scalp. The skin lengthens like molten plastic, oozing off the bone beneath and then rubber-banding back upwards to reattach in a new position. It melts and then goes solid. Melts and then goes solid. Until its true form is revealed. Hairless, a blank canvas of pale skin. Eyes with no lids. A mouth with no lips.
A mimic.
In my terror, I have not noticed Bigfoot’s lack of movement after he left his cage. Jon approaches him, still dragging the creature. And then the great hairy beast does move, launching forward to grab the copy-cat demon with his clawed hands. His mouth opens, revealing rows of large white teeth with two canines that look so sharp that only the slightest pressure against a body would create a bloody slice.
His mouth clamps around the mimic’s bald head.
I look away as he bites through the neck. I feel bile fill my mouth and I turn away so I don’t have to see him pop off the mimic’s head the way I used to do with my dolls when I wanted to change them around. Only, I didn’t chew and swallow their plastic heads. And there was no blood and brain matter inside to flavor the experience.
The lights come back on just as the mimic’s dying cries fade into nothingness. Hoyt is helping Jen walk. She’s bleeding from a shallow cut on the forehead, but otherwise looks fine.
“It wasn’t Archie,” she says weakly.
“I know,” I say sadly. “But I’m sure he’s okay, Jen. He’s just not here.”
Bigfoot is still eating. I try not to look.
Jon comes over. “The only way a mimic can transform that completely into another person or thing is to taste it.”
“Oh no,” Jen sobs out.
“It doesn’t mean your human is dead,” Jon continues quickly; his blunt harshness tempered by the sight of Jen crying. He does have some softness inside him, I think. I knew that. “But he’s at least injured.”
“Injured,” Jen says bleakly, now cradling her face in her hands and Hoyt supporting her fully.
“Jen, we’re going to find him,” I say fiercely. “We’re going to find him, and you’re going to have your date and everything is going to be okay.” I glare at Jon, daring him to argue with me. He doesn’t. And, for some reason, the fact that he doesn’t counter with pessimism makes me less hopeful than if he had and I could have bowed up against him.
Somehow, in the shuffle, we all seem to have forgotten about the men in the cell and the giant hairy monster chowing down on the copycat demon.
“Man, that’s gnarly,” a gruff voice says, calling our attention. One of the men has unraveled themselves from the arms of the other and made his way to a standing position. “Barry, think you could clean yourself off or something?”
The bigfoot turns his head towards the man and grumbles in a bear-like sound that can only mean he’s annoyed. Then he turns back to the mimic, which is nearly gone. There’s only half a leg left, blood is dripping from it, creating a deep purple pool on the concrete floor.
“Don’t mind him,” the man directs his voice to us. “I mean, Barry doesn’t get out much. And it’s not like there was much to eat in the forest. Not that we were ever hungry. But man, when we crossed the broken barrier, it was like centuries of hunger flooded back. I mean, if someone hadn’t yanked me off that woman, I’d have eaten her whole.”
“Eaten… her whole,” Jen spoke slowly, her voice full of the disgust and terror I felt.
“Yeah, I mean.” The man crosses his arms. “When I’m in wolf form, I don’t really distinguish between prey. If it smells good and looks good, I’m going to figure it eats good too.”
“Hey, they gonna let us out?” The second man is rousing now, his voice sleepy. I notice now, also, that some of the hair has receded. They look more… typical, at least in the amount of body hair I’m used to seeing on someone. Their faces are a little odd though, a bit too long through the nose and mouth and chin.
“I don’t think so there, JJ. Seeing as I basically said we eat what we want, when we want.”
“But only when we’re wolves,” the man called JJ smiles wryly and pulls himself to a seated position. “In human form we’re pretty harmless.”
Jon lets out a surprised cough. “Harmless in human form?” Now he laughs. “Sure you are. And I don’t need blood to survive.”
Eyes going wide, I turn to Jon. “You… you need blood?” I felt dumb asking. I mean, every bit of lore I’d ever read said vampires sustain themselves with blood. “I guess that makes sense. And you’re… you’re hungry now, then? I mean, you’ve been out of the forest even longer than them.” Biting my lower lip, I glance down at my hands which are resting limply against my thighs. “Here,” I say quietly, lifting my arm towards Jon.
He stares at it dumbly for a while. Everyone does, as if not understanding what I’m offering.
“You’re hungry, Jon. Take what you need.”
A strange expression crosses over Jon’s face—a war between gratefulness, disbelief, and suspicion. Before he can decide on how to properly respond to me, Hoyt rushes forward and slaps my arm down. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tilda?”
“He’s hungry, Hoyt. He needs food. We need to keep him strong. I mean, look at what happened with the mimic. He knew that it wasn’t Archie. What would have happened without him?” I plead with Hoyt to understand where I’m coming from.
“You’re not opening a vein for him,” Hoyt says firmly, shaking his head.
“It’s my vein to open or not open,” I counter, angry that he thinks he can tell me what to do.
“Hoyt’s right,” Jon’s voice surprises me.
My eyes find his face. “What? Why not?”
“Feeding from the vein is… intimate. Some vampires can do it casually.” He pulls at his hair with two hands for a second, then drops them to his sides with a sigh. “I’m not some vampires. I’ll find something to eat. Your town has a butcher shop?”
Jen nods. She’s sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. I can’t even recall Hoyt helping her get there. I’d been too lost i
n everything else. “Help me up; we’ll take you over there.”
Jon walks over to Jen and helps her stand; she’s still a little shaky on her feet. “Just tell me where it is. You guys can stay here. It’s probably safer. I mean, as long as you don’t let the wolves out.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder.
“And what about Barry the bloody bigfoot?” Hoyt asks, walking around the wheelchair and grabbing the handles. He stares warily at the at-least-seven-foot creature that currently has a blood-soaked beard with little white bits of… flesh stuck between glued-together fur strands.
Walking away from Jen, Jon puts his hand out. “Hey, Barry. Watch the wolves, will you?”
The bigfoot turns around and… smiles. He smiles at the human form werewolves, exposed canines glinting in the overhead harsh fluorescent light. “Don’t eat them unless they do something to warrant it, big guy,” Jon says and claps the bigfoot on the shoulder. “I mean, you’ve just filled your stomach, shouldn’t be too famished anymore.”
The bigfoot grumbles and purrs and makes his thrumming noise.
“Yeah, I know mimics are small game. You’ll live though.”
Jon rejoins us and shrugs. “Bigfoots just need a deft hand. They’ll stomp all over you if you give them an inch.”
We, the humans around Jon that is, stare at the large hairy creature warily. He’s pacing in front of the cells, growling under his breath. I wonder what he’s saying. Whatever it is has Jon smiling and looking rather pleased with himself.
“All right, off to get me filled,” he pats his stomach, “or I won’t be able to resist one of you guys. Literal walking steaks.”
“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” I try to say casually.
He smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking higher to expose a tooth that slowly elongates into a point. It’s not even half the size of the bigfoot’s, but nonetheless scary as heck. “Yes, I am.” He walks away from us, through the other areas of the station and out the front door into the full sunlight. He doesn’t even smoke. Every time I see him, bathed in sunlight with his pale skin glowing like the fires of Gondor have been lit, I wait for him to smoke and then burst into flame and sink into ashes. But he doesn’t.
Jon puzzles me. He confuses me. I both want him gone and want him around.
Hoyt is pushing me. I don’t protest. Jen is walking to the side of us holding my hand. She refuses to let go, even when we go through spaces too narrow for her to keep her position. When that happens, she moves in front of us and paces herself with the front wheels, and continues to hold my hand. She’s not holding it together well. I hope we can find Archie. And when we do, I hope he’s alive.
It took ten minutes to make our way slowly the few blocks over to where the butcher shop was hidden between the post office and the fancy chocolate shop where a tiny box could run you upwards of fifty dollars if you weren’t careful. Jen had gotten some for me after I’d first arrived, trying to find anything I might eat. She’d thought the owner had said seventeen dollars for the two little boxes of truffles and chocolates shaped like bunnies and birds. He’d said over seventy dollars. We’d never gone back in there, opting instead for cheap giant bags of mini candy bars to sate our sweet tooth.
“You all might want to stay out here.” Jon doesn’t want us to come in with him. “Whatever I find to eat… it’s not going to be pretty,” he continues, clarifying.
“Jon, we just saw a bigfoot eat the entire body of a mimic. He literally had bits of skin and bone in his fur. I think we can stomach whatever you’re about to do.” I roll my eyes, trying to sound nonchalant. There’s also a little bit of a thrill in my stomach. What does a vampire look like when they eat? I’ve only seen romantic fantasies with vampires. The seduction. The pierce of pain followed by the euphoria of feeding. The connection between the feeder and the ‘meal’.
“Whatever, suit yourselves.” Jon makes his way up the single step and pulls the handle to the business. It doesn’t give. “Locked,” he comments, before yanking back quickly and causing the door frame to splinter and release the door. It swings back with a protesting squeal and then hangs from half-busted hinges. It immediately tries to close again. The door has some sort of spring-system built-in to keep it from standing open. Jon leans against it to allow us entrance.
“Mr. Sullivan’s not going to be happy about that.” Jen mentions the owner, frowning and hanging back on the sidewalk staring at the establishment. Mr. Sullivan was a nice enough man, but he took his business very seriously. You never hurry him when you put in an order. He’ll do it right, and in however long an amount of time that takes. If you try to rush him, often he’ll cancel your order all together.
“If he’s alive.” Strangely, it’s Hoyt this time and not Jon giving us a reality check.
“Don’t you start with that crap too, Hoyt,” I chide as he lifts the wheelchair over the single step.
“Sorry. I’m feeling a little… not sunny-side up. It’s like I’ve been raising a prize hog for the fair. Months and months. Nearly a year. Optimistic, raising this hog. I love this hog. And then… the hog gets eaten and I’m trying to think ‘there’s always next year’, but I just want to give up.”
“That doesn’t sound like you,” I say softly. “I mean, the thing about the prize hog for fair definitely sounds like you, but not the losing hope thing.” It was surprisingly nice to hear Hoyt return to some of his country roots, with his funny sayings and speaking like he grew up on a farm and had sustained his childhood on dirt and rain and sunny fishing days.
“I need some time to adjust, that’s all.” He leans forward over my shoulder and kisses me gently on the cheek. He does it just in time for Jon to turn and look at us. Again, an unfathomable expression crosses the vampire boy’s face. I’m hurting him. We are. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. But what I said before is still the truth—I love Hoyt more than I like-like Jon.
I half-expect Jon to stop holding the door and let it swing closed to block the wheelchair. He doesn’t though. He stands still as a statue so that Hoyt can push me into the building. He waits patiently for Jen to shake her head once more at the broken door and then enter herself. I turn around in my chair, as best I can, and I see him hang his head for a second, his shoulders slumping. But then he gathers himself up like a storm on a second wind and he lets the broken door close.
The power is on to all the fridges and deep freezers. The main display hasn’t been stocked for today, meaning Mr. Sullivan hadn’t come into work. That worries me.
“The storage room is that way. That’s where he keeps all the discards from butchering.”
Jon nods and heads through the swinging doors to the back kitchen area. He appears seconds later with two pints marked ‘angus blood’. “Lamb would have been better, but the dates were too old. Fresher is better.” He looks around. “I need to find some way to warm this. I’ll vomit it right back up if it’s ice cold.”
“I’m sure there’s a microwave somewhere in here. Mr. Sullivan always eats lunch here,” Jen comments offhand, moving away from us to search.
“A microwave?” Jon asks, looking confused.
“It’s this machine that heats food up using… well, microwaves,” Jen explains.
Hoyt says nothing, and I sit in my chair uselessly. I think about how we’d not seen any people in town as we’d moved from the station to here. No humans at all. What did that mean? How could all the people in a town disappear overnight?
Any number of ways, little witch. Any number of ways. The witchfinder, who has been quiet for some time, awakens in my head. I shudder.
If you know something about what’s happening, tell me. I try to sound forceful and angry through the fear I can’t swallow down right now.
And take away the fun of watching your motley crew search for answers? I think not.
Tell me!
The night has swallowed them, little witch. The night has swallowed them whole. And there’s nothing you can do about it. He laughs in
my head, and it’s haunting and hollow—bouncing off the walls of my addled brain.
An odd metallic smell filled the space around us. I could almost taste a warm sweetness on my tongue. Jon and Jen pushed through the back kitchen into the main sales area again. Instead of the plastic pints, they carried four chipped mugs between them, all filled to the brim with dark liquid.
They set the hot coffee cups on the serving counter and Jen leaves Jon’s side to rejoin me and Hoyt.
“Sorry about this,” Jon grimaces, for once with not an ounce of cockiness.
He picks up one of the mugs, closes his eyes, and then reopens them.
They are such a dark red that they’re nearly burgundy-black. Obsidian veins are reaching out from them, stretching across his skin like spider webs. A wine-dark stain blossoms on his forehead, it joins the black lines. He turns away from us now, but not fast enough to hide the way his teeth are lengthening when he opens his mouth and lifts the hot blood.
It doesn’t make me nauseous, maybe it should.
When Jon turns around, his skin is slowly returning to normal, and all the mugs are empty. A trail of blood leaks from the right side of his mouth and he swipes at the dampness with his sleeve.
“Do you feel better?” I ask, truly curious.
“You look a little less like steak and potato dinners,” he answers back with a disarming grin.
I laugh; I can’t help myself.
Trust the Psycho
So your vampire is back at full strength. Against a war, it is an insignificant win. The witchfinder plagues me, wanting to take away the tiny bit of lightness in my heart from laughing at Jon’s joke.
“Shut up,” I speak out loud without thinking.
“What?” Jon looks at me. Everyone looks at me.
“Sorry, just thinking out loud,” I say quickly, gripping the wheels and pushing forward to get away. I’ve got to be more mindful. I don’t want anyone to know that he’s in my head, at least not yet.